Potter Ever After
by Kevin3
Summary: Between marriage contracts, soul bonds, angry fathers, wandering eyes, backstabbing women, and defiant house elves, Harry has a feeling that 'True Love' isn't in the cards for him in this story. Which is just fine by him, as it turns out. A depressing walkthrough of the current state of HP Fanfiction.
1. Potter Ever After

**Potter Ever After**

"So, how long have you two been dating?" Dennis asked the pair, ignoring McGonagall staring angrily at their table.

"Oh, nearly three years."

Harry coughed, nearly choking on Pumpkin Juice.

Hermione, clad in a t-shirt and jeans, didn't seem to notice her seatmate's discomfort; instead, she threw an arm around his back. "It all started when I was cornered by a troll my first year. Harry, the wonderful man that he is, rushed in and saved me; by own knight in shining armor."

Harry waited until Dennis Creevey walked away, then whispered, "Hermione... we're dating?"

"Of course!" Hermione said, laughing at his confusion.

"I didn't know... how could we be dating if I didn't _know_ we were?" Harry asked in a weak voice.

"Harry, be serious. If we weren't dating, why on earth would you be meeting my parents later this afternoon?"

Harry paled. Oh dear god. What had the author done?

* * *

"So, this is the young man that's shagging my daughter?!"

Harry's lip quivered. What on _earth_ had Hermione said to her parents about him? It did _not_ help that Hermione's father was holding a cricket bat and rhythmically rapping it into the palm of his other hand - though the man was _clearly_ aching to pound it into something else.

"Dear, stop terrorizing the poor boy."

"It's my job as a girl's father," he growled, "to bodily threaten any boy who'd dare tou..."

Mrs. Granger interrupted. "If you don't knock it off, dear, I'm withholding sex tonight."

"Oh, well, in that case," Mr. Granger replied in a warm voice, "Welcome, and come on in - we've been looking forward to meeting you."

Harry blinked. "Er..."

"Oh, sorry about earlier," Mr. Granger said, shrugging. "Rather silly of me. I was thinking, 'Hey, maybe my daughter who's young enough to be in American Middle School shouldn't be having wild kinky sex, let alone with a boy that's even younger than she is. But, hey, when the misses threatens a night without sex - well, you know I had to crumple fast. That's one of the foundational blocks of a happy lasting marriage: abandoning parenting beliefs in the face of sexual extortion."

"..."

"Plus, well, teenaged pregnancy isn't _that_ big of a deal anymore - and you're never too young to get your first STD, am I right?"

Harry blinked again.

Hermione dragged her date inside. "That's right, daddy. But we're not ready to have sex for a long, long time."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief; some measure of sanity at last.

"We'll wait until we're 17. Or at least a few chapters into the story..."

Harry blinked again.

"I mean, the author's going to be bored writing limited-to-making-out sessions, so we'll probably end up shagging before the end of the sum..."

"It was nice meeting you all!" Harry blurted before running away from the house in panic.

* * *

"Mate! I heard what happened with you and Hermione!"

"Don't remind me, Ron."

Ron shrugged. "Obviously she wasn't 'The One'."

"The One?"

"You know, the one you're meant to be with for eternity."

Harry was feeling a headache coming on. "Ron, I'm not sure I'm ready for a relationship that'll last for eternity."

"What do you mean?"

"Okay, you know how I was getting googley-eyed at Cho last year?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, when I was in Charms class, and Padma sat in front of me? I'd sometimes stare at her backside a bit. And, well, the Gryffindor Chasers are really good looking, and sometimes they come out of the locker with just their athletic bras on instead of a full shirt. To be honest, when that happens, I'd be hard pressed to even remember my own name."

"Your point?"

"My point is, even when I thought I was totally-in-love with Cho, I'd forget about her at the drop of a hat and ogle any cute girl that happened to be nearby. It... it sounds cad-like, but I just don't think my brain and body are stable enough to be a good boyfr..."

"Harry," Ron growled. "You're 14 now. It's about time you developed the emotional maturity that comes at that age and settle into a relationship of everlasting true love."

* * *

Little did he know, Harry was 5 minutes away from outright panic. That's what he deserved, though, talking with Luna Lovegood - who for some reason was wearing a sundress made from what looked like glowing mushrooms.

"I can't explain it to Ron - he just doesn't listen to what I'm saying," Harry vented, mostly to himself. "Hermione's great - she's a genuinely good person, there's nothing _wrong_ with her, and I enjoy spending time with her. It's just..."

"You don't want to be her boyfriend."

"Right," Harry said, happy she understood.

"Is it because she's destined to be with Ron?"

"Er... no? I don't know."

"Harry, you can't choose to _not_ be with a girl without it being an issue of a conflicting love interest or it turning out that she's a horrible person."

"What?!"

"It's dramatically unsatisfying," Luna replied lightly. "Either you're her soulmate, she's destined for someone else, or she's a horrible rotten person that stabs you in the back. It is simply not possible for two people to generally like each other but eventually decide that they don't see themselves eventually marrying one another. Arithmancers proved its impossibility in the Great Rahmcawm Paradox of 1203."

"But..."

"I like the third option, myself," Luna half-sang. "Traitorous ex-friend that works hand-in-hand with Dumbledore to manipulate every string in your life. It's so satisfying to see their machinations fail and then, later in the story, they get what's coming to them and the headmaster is forced into exile or such."

"Wait, what?!"

"Headmaster in Exile. Okay, sometimes they kill him. But usually he lives to the end of his days to suffer in the knowledge of his utter treachery."

"Back up. You said 'works hand-in-hand' with Dumbledore to manipulate me?"

Luna sighed. "You didn't know that the headmaster was the ultimate puppeteer?"

"..."

McGonagall walked up to the pair. "Mister Potter, the Headmaster would like to have a word with you..."

* * *

"Why, yes, Harry. I've been manipulating you your entire life - all for the greater good, of course."

Harry's mouth gaped.

"Would you like a Lemon Drop? I can absolutely guarantee you that they're not laced with anything that will harm you."

The silence stretched.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "I don't buy it."

"It's true," Dumbledore said, his twinkling eyes shining rather twinklishly. "I've controlled everything about you, turning you into my perfect sacrificial lamb."

"No, no, no," Harry replied, shaking his head. "I call bullshit."

"Sorry, it's true. Now, if you don't mind, Hagrid has arrived with a shipment of kittens and I find myself rather hungry for the taste of the flesh of the innocent."

"Why are you doing this?" Harry asked. "You're a semi-insane, mildly-forgetful, crazily-busy old man with genuine flaws - but you are _not_ an evil person."

"Oho, I'm Evil with a capital 'E'," Dumbledore shot back. "I'm so Evil that I blocked the reading of your parents Will when they died, all so I could foist you on abusive relatives so you'd be utterly dependant on me. Mwuhahaha."

"Uh, except my parents didn't _have_ a Will."

"Of course they did!" Dumbledore said, aborting his laugh. "Who told you they didn't?!"

"They died when they were _twenty-one_. Nobody in their twenties has a will."

Dumbledore couldn't argue with that; he was in his hundred-and-fifies, and he was _still_ putting off his estate planning (honestly, he had so much crap that he'd probably end up giving even Ron Weasley something or another.) "But, my boy, the... your money! Oho, you'll never catch me, but I'm totally stealing your money! Hahahah!"

"No you're not."

"Oh, yes, I am! Loads of it. You're going to bankrupt before you graduate at this rate!"

"Why haven't I noticed my vault getting any smaller, then?"

"Er, because I'm stealing from _another_ vault. You've only gone to your _Trust_ vault, Harry. I made absolutely sure you never heard of your _real_ vault, with all the oodles of money and magical artifacts and brik-a-brak and what-not."

"You're saying my parents, 4-years out of graduation, went through the trouble of setting up a _Trust_ vault?"

"Yes."

"And they put so much gold in the 'little' vault that it ridiculously outsizes the account the Weasleys use for their entire family?"

"Yes."

"I mean, to the point where I've gone several years of expenses without putting a visible _dent_ in the Trust account? That it's just the 'Potter Pocket Money' fund?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"..."

"I thought so," Harry said, smugly. "Why are you doing this?"

Dumbledore sighed, laying his wrinkled hands upon his desk. "It's the journey of the hero."

"... what?"

"The hero (that's you, Harry) starts out with a mentor. And then, during the journey, the mentor is removed so the hero can come into their own. It's the only dramatically satisfying path. Otherwise people ask, if the world is hanging by a thread, why isn't the mentor working to fix it instead of sending their young naive protege to do the job."

Harry twitched; he was beginning to hate the phrase 'Dramatically Satisfying.'

"... so, you see, I only have two options. I either have to die, or have to be revealed as a weak or untrustworthy person that's not worthy of being a mentor - thus making you (the hero) lose me."

Harry closed his eyes. "So instead of dying, you want me to think you're a horrible manipulative person, rise out from under your wing, and become a fully independent actor of fate," he said in a dead voice. "You'd rather live with everyone thinking you're an arse than simply dying with dignity?"

"Absolutely right," Dumbledore replied enthusiastically. "And I usually get away with it – man, you would _believe_ the things I convince some people I'm capable of. And, while I won't mind moving on to the next adventurous great... whatever, I'd rather just put it off for awhile. I mean, I haven't even finished my Will yet!"

* * *

"I heard you told Dumbledore you were done with all his manipulations," Ginny said, sidling up to him at the Gryffindor dining table, her blue jumper tied by the sleeves around her waist due to the warmer-than-expected weather. "That you're now an agent of your own free will, able to tread a third path instead of walking the ways of Voldemort or Dumbledore - a powerful force for your own purpose instead of a pawn belonging to someone else."

"Oh dear god," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"What?"

"That's the most overly dramatic bullshit I've ever heard. And get your hand off my arse!"

"Sorry," Ginny said, pulling her hand away. She didn't sound sorry.

Minerva McGonagall stood from the head table and began to speak, her voice carrying across the hall. "Everyone, quiet. I have an important announcement. We will be re-opening the northern wing quarters to better accommodate our married couples within the school."

Harry blinked. "Oh sh... well... I can guess what's going to happen now..."

An excited shriek came from the Hufflepuff table - sure enough, Susan Bones and her trademark cute sweater bounced up and over his way. "Did you hear? I found out that we have a Marriage Contract!"

* * *

"What do you mean, 'No'?"

"As in, No, I'm not going to follow the Marriage Contract."

That baffled all the rest of the Gryffindor common room. First, Harry wasn't in his proper room (shouldn't he be in the Married Quarters? Why would they bother setting them up if Harry wasn't going to go live there?!) and now he was talking absolute gibberish.

"What do you mean, you're not going to follow it?"

Harry shook his head. "I mean, I'm not marrying Susan Bones."

"But... it's been put into a contract."

"I know."

"So you have to marry her."

"No I don't."

"The contract says you do."

"But I'm not going to."

"Why not? She's dead sexy! Those sweaters hide them a bit, but have you seen how effing large her..."

"That's not... listen, I'm not marrying anyone. Not now, not anytime soon."

"But the contract says you have to be wed before you turn 16. It was a final arrangement to seal the treaty between the Bones Clan and the Potter Clan. That treaty was the only thing that let the wizarding world turn the tide against Baba Yaga and her forces of evil!"

Harry's eyebrows rose. "So you're trying to say that if I don't marry Miss Bones, Baba Yaga will rise from her resting place, and her troops will come back to life, and they'll all start killing everyone?"

"Well... no. But it will sever the centuries-old alliance between the Potters and the Bones!"

"So you're saying the two remaining members of the Bones Family... and the only remaining member of the Potter family... might not like each other?"

"Yes!"

Harry shrugged. "I can live with that."

* * *

McGonagall frowned. "Mister Potter?" she called out from within the commons.

"Here," Harry called, coming down the stairs from his dorms. "Did you need something, professor?"

"I've approved your request - you'll be able to take leave this weekend, provided you're back in the castle by curfew." Her message delivered, McGonagall left the commons.

"So, where are you going, Harry?" one of the boys asked.

"Gringotts." He mentally added, 'I have to get away from you nutters.'

"Ooooh," Ginny said, "Are you going to look for your parents' will?"

"Don't be stupid," Ron said.

Harry couldn't believe it. Finally! Someone else was making sense.

Harry's relief lasted until Ron continued, "He's going to look for more marriage contracts."

"Or perhaps," Hermione added, "He's wanting to see if he can learn weapon and armor forging and enchanting."

"That's silly," Fred chimed in. "He'd be going there to legally assume the mantle of the Potter Lordship."

"And probably assume the Black line of Wizengamot seats as well," George added.

"Maybe they've got books on Runecrafting," Lavender added.

Harry blinked. "You all know that Gringotts is a bank... right?"

"Banks don't handle marriage certificates?"

"Banks don't handle legal wills?"

"Banks don't do weapon-smithing?"

"Banks don't officiate family lines of succession?"

"Banks don't act as libraries?"

"Banks don't control who has a seat on governmental bodies?"

Harry groaned. "No!"

"Are you sure," Ron asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes."

"Then what _do_ they do?"

"They store wealth and lend money."

Fred laughed. "Ha! That sounds pretty unlikely. Next thing you know you'll tell me that banks aren't responsible for blood-heredity tests!"

"Seriously," George said. "Why are you going to Gringotts? It's the Wizengamot seats, right?"

* * *

"Uh... you're the new recruit?" Voldemort asked.

"Yes."

"You."

"Yes."

"Is there any reason you look like Minverva McGonagall?"

"Because I _am_ Minerval McGonagall."

"... and you want to become a Death Eater?"

McGonagall nodded.

"... why?!"

"Let me show you," she answered. She went over to the closet and pulled out a spare Death Eater uniform. A minute later, the former Transfiguration Professor was standing, clad in a black robe and wearing a white face mask.

"See?" she asked.

"... see what?"

"Let me explain. I've been in, what, a few hundred-thousand fan-fics. In those fan-fics, I do what a lot of women do: spend time in the morning to look presentable to the world. Making sure my hair is nice, making sure my robes are neat, making sure my outfit is smart. It's not that I'm vain, it's just that more emphasis is placed on a woman's appearance, and I spend the same time that a normal woman does on such things."

"Now, in those hundreds of thousands of fanfics, my clothing or dress or shoes or such - is _never mentioned_. All the time I spend, day after day, and all you ever hear is 'McGonagall sat, primly', or 'McGonagall frowned thoughtfully'; never an ounce of appreciation for the time I've spent. Even in this story, I've already been in 4 prior scenes, with nary a mention of what I look like – and I bet nobody even noticed that. Yet Ginny gets to wear her jumper, Hermione gets her t-shirt and jeans, Susan gets her cute sweater, and Luna gets a dress of... whatever the hell that thing was made of. The unfairness makes me quite sick."

She sidled up to Voldemort, a tear threatening to emerge from her right eye. "But just now, for the first time in what seems like forever, I'm in this scene where I actually warranted narrative description of my appearance. I wasn't just 'there', I was wearing a black robe, I was wearing a white face mask."

Bellatrix nodded to herself, black hair rustling against her black dress. That's how she joined, after all (she didn't even _have_ a hair color until she became a Death Eater.)

* * *

"This place is disgusting!" Ginny said, wiping her hands on her jumper (the red one, not the blue one from earlier. It matters to the plot. Somehow.)

"Why are you even here?!" Harry demanded. "I didn't invite you to tag along."

"When you say things like that, Harry, it sometimes makes me doubt our soul-bond."

"Dear god, I am afraid to ask..."

"During my second year, you saved me from being eaten by a monstrous beast. It formed an unbreakable bond between us that will last through all time."

"Well, I don't think th... wait. You said _your_ second year?"

"Yeah. You saved me from the clutches of an evil werewolf whom you banished from the school with your powerful magicks."

"_That's_ how you remember last year ending?" Harry asked incredulously. "Nevermind, fine, whatever. I've pretty much given up figur..."

"Dobby!" Ginny called out loudly.

The house elf appeared before them.

"Dobby," Ginny commanded. "I want you to clean this place out before Harry moves in."

"Nos!" Dobby screamed and disappeared.

Harry was confused how Ginny thought they were here for move-in preparations. Why on earth would he want to live here?

Ginny, however, seemed to be confused about something else. "What just happened? Dobby refused an order! This fanfic is defective!"

"Dobby is a free elf. He doesn't belong to me. You can't just give him commands like that, and even if what you did wasn't terribly rude, he's already been contracted for legal employment elsewhere. I really don't see a house-elf shrugging prior employment obligations on a whim. Besides, there are thousand of other houseelves in Britain that I could try t..."

"Oh, puh-lease," Ginny said, her voice dripping with condescension. "Dobby's your domestic servant in, like, every Harry Potter fanfic ever written."

"That's just because he's the only one mentioned by name this isn't either homicidal or drunk."

* * *

"Harry Potter!" Hermione screeched. "I think it's time you finally made up your mind."

"Hm?"

"Who. Is. It. Going. To. Be?!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Who is what going to be?"

"Who are you going to fall in love with?"

Harry shrugged.

"It's Daphne Greengrass, isn't it? Or Hannah Abbott? If it's not me or Ginny... oh, maybe Luna Lovegood? No, probably Daphne. Or maybe both Luna and Daphne? Or did you decide to end up going with Susan's marriage contract?"

"I was actually thinking of asking out Karen."

"Karen?" Hermione asked, confused. "I don't think I know her."

"I'd be surprised if you did. She's a muggle living a block over from Privet Drive. During the summers off from school, she keeps in shape by jogging, and she always looped through Privet late afternoon, and at the tail end of the last summer, I was always doing yardwork when she ran by. I'd wave hello, she'd wave back. The sixth time I saw her, she actually stopped her jog and started to chat me up a bit - and we hit it off pretty well, all things considering. I never got a chance to ask her out because Hogwarts started back up, but I think I might take her to the movies this summer."

"A muggle?!" Hermione screamed. "A bloody OC'ed muggle girl?! What the hell?!"

"Maybe that's the point," Harry said.

Hermione wordlessly steamed.

Slow patriotic music began to play.

"Maybe," Harry said with deliberation and firmness, "that has _always_ been the point. The Harry Potter series is about not judging people by who they appear, or by what blood flows through their veins - but by the content of their character."

The music began to crescendo.

"The same struggle has happened countless times. People rally against bigotry and persecution; how _dare_ you discriminate against a black man... yet never in their own stories is the hero himself of color. And maybe, just _maybe_," he continued, his voice growing bolder, " these fanfics have lost that message of inclusiveness."

"Not of Race," Harry said, an Americ... I mean, the Union Jack waving behind him from an unseen breeze, "And not of sexual orientation. But of magical blood. They claim to stand against blood puritism, yet its somehow always a witch (or wizard) that Harry is going to live happily ever after with. Well, No More! This Hero is going to find himself a nice muggle girl!"

After a final echoing shriek from a Bald Eagl... er, whatever the British Version of a majestic national animal is (A Crake flying over a field of Bangers and Mash?), the music faded away.

Hermione looked at him.

"You're messing with me. It's Daphne, isn't it?"

Harry sighed.

* * *

Author's Note: Heh, hope nobody minded me poking a bit of fun at the current state of HP Fanfiction.


	2. Dramione

**Chapter 2 - Dramione**

"What?" Hermione shrieked, looking at the chapter title. "There's no bloody way."

"I take it you have problems with the concept of Dramione?" Draco asked.

"Of course I do! You're a vicious, vindictive little ferret. You called me 'mudblood' twenty times before breakfast today. There's no way on earth I'm going to enter a romantic relationship with you, because you don't have a single redeeming feature!"

Draco smirked. "I'm afraid you're wrong."

"What?"

"You're wrong. I wouldn't blame you for not paying attention, though."

Hermione steamed.

"Allow me to explain," Draco said. "What would you say the lesson of the Harry Potter stories is?"

"Bigotry is wrong?"

"No."

"Good overcomes evil?"

"No."

"We should celebrate our differences and come together in understanding and empathy?"

"Good lord, no!"

"... okay, if you're so smart - what is the lesson of the Harry Potter stories?"

Draco smiled. "That if you're a bad person, you're physically ugly."

"What?!" Hermione shrieked (she does that a lot.) "That's... that's..."

Draco smirked. "The Dark Lord: ultimate evil of the series and looks like a hideous snake-man with red eyes. Dolores Umbridge: main antagonist of the fifth book and looks like a fat toad. Cornelius Fudge: incompetent minister and a fat jowly man. Slytherin house in general: antagonist house, and filled with 'unpleasant-looking' people. Filch: enemy of the students and a freaking hunchback. Even the evil people that _start out_ as looking decent - Tom Riddle and Gilderoy Lockhart - are turned ugly by the pure power of badness. Tom Riddle is turned into snake-man, and Gilderoy Lockhart is described by Harry as no longer looking attractive, but looking like a weak-chinned fool. The Harry Potter series is simply there to teach children: if someone looks ugly, they're evil; and if they're good-looking, they must be a decent person."

"That's..." Hermione kept sputtering, "that's so wrong..."

"Fine, Granger. Then name me a character that's a good person, but is described as being ugly."

"... Sprout?"

"Simply described as a squat little witch. Not really derogatory - unless you want to go on the record as describing all non-thin people as ugly?"

"... Lupin?"

"Merely described as wearing shabby robes. Young, with flecks of gray hair. Again, nothing negative."

"Aberforth?"

"Long, stringy, wiry hair - but with piercing blue eyes. That's certainly not a portrait of ugliness by any means."

"Mundungus Fletcher?"

"Oh, you mean the drunkard that stole from the Order and was responsible for Umbridge getting a Horcrux? That's your paragon of _goodness?_"

"Oh! What about Bellatrix Lestrange? She's evil, but is described as looking good."

"She _used_ to look good. Now she's described as 'gaunt', with a 'skull-like face'. She turned to evil, so she must be turned to ugly."

Hermione let out a frustrated noise. "Fine. What is your point?"

"My point is this: am I good looking?"

"... you're described as... 'haughtily good looking'," Hermione said, her teeth grounding.

"And, therefore, I must end up as a non-evil character. Q.E.D."

Hermione didn't say anything; the steam coming from her ears was statement enough.

"You can get as angry as you want, Granger. But you and I both know that I'm going to end up redeemed. And according to the chapter title, you're going to be the female character doing the redeeming..."

* * *

"Harry?"

Harry looked over at Hermione, surprised with how vulnerable her voice sounded. "Is something wrong, Hermione?"

Hermione swallowed. "I'm... I think I'm stuck in a Dramione fic."

"A... a what?"

"Dramione."

"What the heck is a Dray-My-Knee?"

"It's a portmanteau of 'Draco' and 'Hermione'."

"Huh. What? Was 'Hermaco' already taken? That sounds a whole lot cooler than Dramoine."

"Harry, focus! I think I'm stuck in a fic that's going to bring Draco an I into a romantic relationship."

"Really."

"Yes, Really!"

"... Why?"

Hermione sighed, flopping onto a couch by the fireplace (that's the advantage of not adequately describing the environment at the start of the scene; I didn't describe where they were at, so when Hermione needed to sit down: Bam! They're in the commons, and there's a couch right there. That's why being a bad author is so great!)

Harry blinked. "Sorry, didn't catch your reply over the author babbling."

"Right. Anyway, it's got all the ingredients needed for a proper romantic comedy. Two unattached singles with an obvious axis of dissonance that can dramatically resolve romantically into a relationship."

Harry blinked. "You do realize that romantic comedies aren't about actual relationships, right? That the real world is way different?"

Hermione laughed with bubbling condescension. "Romantic Comedies are based on real life, Harry - the struggles and triumphs of regular men and women."

"No, they're not. It's..."

"Harry," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "I think I understand a _little_ more about relationships than you. You're a _guy_."

Harry didn't know quite how to respond to that.

"But, fine, I'll humor you. Why, from your silly and backwards male perspective, are romantic comedies not about actual relationships?"

"Well, to start with, falling in love and starting to date isn't hard. Young people fall in love and start dating all the time. The _hard_ part is what happens years afterward. When large disagreements come up about money, or how to raise children, or any number of other things that require painful compromises. When you're angry or frustrated or depressed and want nothing more than to yell or scream - and they feel the same way - but you both have to learn to take deep breaths and somehow find ways of calming down without saying things that will hurt for months and years. Forgiving, letting go grievances, giving up some of what you want - all while trying to live a regular life that's going to have its ups and downs."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry, see, this is why you need to watch more romantic comedies - you're operating from a bad set of assumptions. Happy couples? They never fight. Couples that _do_ have a fight aren't happy with one another and simply need to find new partners. You see it all the time at the _beginning_ of Rom-Coms, and by the end, they've found someone new and are much happier!"

"Wait," Harry said weakly. "I want to make sure I'm understanding you. So you're saying... if you were dating someone, and you ended up fighting about something?"

"I'd know I wasn't with the right person and immediately break it off. Real couples never get angry with one another."

Harry blinked. "You know what? I'm glad this chapter is Dramione. I really dodged a bullet on this one."

* * *

[Note to self: insert typical Hermione-Draco blood-based bickering here. Give Draco some zingers, and make sure he notices her butt when they stalk away from one another.]

* * *

"He's just so frustrating!" Hermione shrieked.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I know. That's why I think you're an idiot for dating him."

"We're not dating yet!" she shouted back. "I mean, we're not dating, period, and we certainly never ever will! If he doesn't change his thick-headed ways and learn to..."

"Wait," Harry said, sighing. "Are you pinning your future romantic happiness on a 14-year-old klu-klux-klan aspirant discovering that black people are just as worthwhile as white people and that every one of his klu-klux-klan family is simply wrong? You do have a backup plan, right?"

Hermione ignored him. "I mean, I can't believe he said [Note to self: throw in a reference to last chapter]!"

"Well, I can. Say, have you met Nathan Forchette? He's a Gryffindor a year older than you. Likes Arithmancy, big fan of runes, and enjoys reading? I think the two of you would get along."

"... and _then_... then he said that [Note to self: add another reference to prior chapter]. I mean, can you believe the _gall_ of that boy?"

"Yes, I can. Have you thought about spending some time with Terri Boot? He's in Ravenclaw, you two work well in class together, and both of you enjoy..."

"... and," Hermione continued, "then he called me 'Mudblood' again! Can you _believe_ it?"

Harry sighed.

* * *

[Note to self: insert typical Hermione-one-ups-Draco-on-blood-purism scene. Oh, and put something about how Draco has grudging respect for her and a flash of romantic attraction to her that he quickly squashes.]

* * *

"Malfoy."

Harry watched as Draco turned around. "Potter," he replied.

"What are your intentions with Hermione?"

"Oh!" Draco said, grinning. "Is this the traditional, 'Don't break my mudblood friend's heart or I'll hurt you' scene?"

"No. Well, uh, sort of, I guess. I'm mostly just confused about what's going on."

"Don't worry your little head. I'm just screwing with Granger."

"... er, what?"

"Oh, come on, Potter. I'm a good-looking scion of a rich and powerful family, able to court nearly any girl in the castle. And I've been raised with beliefs that completely rule Granger out from any sort of running in that category. Why on earth would I be trying to woo her?"

"Oh. It's just..."

"You thought I was in _love_ with her? Pffth. Like I said, I'm a good-looking scion of a rich and powerful family. You don't think I've had _hundreds_ of talks with my dad about the wiles of women? Trust me, Granger's not even in the same league as some of the golddiggers in Slytherin, and I'm still romantically un-entangled despite sharing a house with those beguiling vipers. Ol' Bucktooth McFrizzles wouldn't have a chance at bagging me."

* * *

[Note to self: Insert scene about how Draco's trying to convince himself that he's not trying to fool himself about not liking Granger and that he really meant the obvious lies he just told to Harry. Make it as twisty and incomprehensible as possible, because heaven forbid love actually make sense. Oh, and make a big deal about him mentally referring to her as 'Hermione' instead of 'Granger'. That's how the reader knows its true love: by being able to refer to someone by their first name.]

* * *

"I have an announcement," McGonagall announced, her burgundy robes stilled solemnly. "We're renewing the old Scottish Tradition of Aayusday-Ecksay-Ockinguhmay."

"What's that?" a random NPC called out from the Hufflepuff table.

"It varies by story to st... I mean, it's a long-held tradition of Hogwarts. It's a competition where the fourth year students are paired off by the boy's first name and the girl's last name..."

"Huh," Harry whispered. He'd thought this would turn out to be a ridiculously contrived way of forcing 'Draco' and 'Granger' to be paired up together.

"... in pig-latin," McGonagall continued.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Acodray, Angergray. Well played, indeed. Subtle. Stupid Dramione."

"The winner," McGoangall finished with a smirk, "will win a long lost tome on incredibly obscure magic, an invitation to converse with the wizards and witches of the ICW, and the invaluable lesson that spending time with a worthy partner is worth more than books or politics."

"Oh, come on!" Harry complained. "Isn't that a little, I don't know, 'On the Nose'?"

* * *

[Note to self: Insert scene about Draco and Hermione admitting they really want to win the prize - and the concession they'll have to learn to work together.]

* * *

"I... I think there might be more to Malfoy than we expected," Hermione softly said to Harry.

"Don't worry. They'll be a relapse in Act 3 where he calls you mudblood again."

"I doubt it. He's not like that anymore."

* * *

[Note to self: Insert scene where Draco deals with conflict between home beliefs and the feelings he's been fostering for Hermione. He stresses out, snaps, calls her mudblood. Ooh, and draw some parallels between Draco's treatment of Hermione and Snape's treatment of Lily. Make sure to distract readers from the subtext that it implies Hermione is a much better person than Lily Potter ever was.]

* * *

"I can't believe he called me mudblood!" Hermione shrieked.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't worry. He'll apologize."

"He'll _try_," Hermione hissed angrily. "But I'm never forgiving that jackass."

* * *

[Note to self: insert a heart-rending Hermione forgiving Draco scene. Really write the shit out of it - shove that cheese down their throats!]

* * *

"Wait," Harry said. "I think you messed up."

"Hm?" Hermione asked, cuddling with her blond-haired snuggly-wuggly pillow.

Harry was briefly wondering where the hell this scene was set at. If they were in the Gryffindor commons, Ron would've tried to kill Draco; if they were in the Slytherin commons, a 7th year would probably kill Hermione. Did the three of them find an abandoned classroom together? And if so, did that mean this was switching to a threesome fic? Man, he hadn't seen that coming at all!

"Well? How did I mess up?"

Harry shook his head, deciding he should forget about silly things like scene setting. "Well, you've resolved all conflict already, you've gotten past the relapse in Act III, and Draco's practically been turned into an overstuffed teddy-bear. But... you haven't resolved the part about the school competition. You know? The one that forced you to work together in the first place?"

"Oh, but we did tie off that thread," Hermione replied smugly. "We both were willing to sacrifice our entry in the competition to be with one another. We dropped out."

"Wait... what?!"

"Harry, there was always going to be a trust issue - with me trying to figure out if Draco was doing the competition because he wanted to spend time with me, or if he was doing it as a way to gain contacts with the ICW. But he was able to prove himself and his love by withdrawing us from the contest, making it 100% unambiguously clear that he was in it so he could spend time with me."

Harry's eyebrows scrunched. "I want to make sure I've got this right. You were spending time in a competition together..."

"Right."

"... time that you both enjoyed..."

"Right."

"... working towards a prize that you _both_ wanted..."

"Right."

"... and instead of simply continuing that, you both agreed to give up those prizes..."

"Your point?"

"... why didn't you just keep working on the project?! You were both enjoying it, and you both wanted the prize!"

"Harry," Hermione said with happy condescension, "Draco had to give me that gesture to prove that it was all real, that he really truly cared for me."

"Or, in other words, he thought that proving his love for you was important enough to deny you getting a long lost tome of knowledge you really really wanted. Heaven forbid he prove his love in a way that didn't hurt you in the process."

* * *

Ron wiped his forehead in relief.

Dramione was almost over, and he wasn't functionally retarded.

"Yeah, I never understood that," Harry commiserated, plopping down next to the redhead. "Why do authors make you completely idiotic in pretty much every story? I mean, you play near-master-level chess. Do they have any idea how difficult that is, how steep of a learning curve that game has? Having to keep track of threatened pieces, pinned pieces, potential skewers, piece maneuverability, pawn skeletons, the weighing of tempo versus piece advantage, and generally being able to evaluate the strength of a given position so that it's possible to look moves into the future to see whether..."

Ron held up a hand to bring Harry's building rant to a halt. "It's okay. Best I can figure, authors want you to be independent. They want you to be powerful, to be self-reliant... and for that to happen, you can't have a best-mate that you're relying on for support and stability. I don't know why they think friendship makes someone weak, but to each their own."

"They... they turn you into a moron because they don't want me to have you as a friend?"

"Pretty much."

"But... that's... that's the most horrifying thing I've ever heard!"

"I know. Trying to break up a friendship bec..."

"No, not that. I mean, that's already pretty lousy, but... what I meant was... do all these authors think that someone being stupid is a valid reason for not being someone's friend? Sorry, you don't mean a minimum required IQ: you don't deserve friendship? Oh, you're too dumb for the story's hero to spend time with?"

"Mate, don't think about it too much."

"No, that's bullshit! Ron, we've been through pretty much everything together. I... I can't imagine ditching you simply because you went a bit slow in the head."

Ron blushed and scratched the back of his neck. "That's swell, Harry, but... if an author doesn't want us to be friends, they'll make it happen one way or another."

"C'mon, authors don't have _that_ much power."

"Harry, are you gay?"

"What? No!"

"Good. Now sometime, do a story-search for Harry-Draco."

"..."

Ron smirked. "Do you still doubt authors have that much power? I hear they call it... _'Drary'_..."

Harry shuddered in fear.

* * *

"Don't think I didn't notice, my dear."

"What?" McGonagall asked, blue robes rustling as she turned to face the headmaster.

"Don't think I didn't notice that you're suddenly warranting narrative description."

"It's... I swear..."

"It's okay," Dumbledore said with a small smile. "I already have one death eater on staff. If I snag a few more, I might be able to finally convince Harry I'm evil. Do try not to kill Mr. Potter, though - I believe our Defense Professor is first in queue, and the story gets cumbersome if too many people are trying to kill him all at once. By the way, your robes _do_ look rather nice."

* * *

Author's Note: I was originally planning on 'Potter Ever After' being a one-shot... but I realized I was having way too much fun. Hope everyone enjoys!

Please Review


	3. You Haph To Get Married

**Part 3: You Haph To Get Married**

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked.

Harry sighed. "Yes?"

"I found another marriage contract that was set up for you!"

"Don't care."

"No, you don't understand. This one says that you'll lose your magic and become a squib if you don't marry her."

"Haha, very funny."

"I'm not joking!"

"Hermione, that's completely ridiculous."

"Here! Look!"

The bushy haired girl thrust parchment in front of her friend.

"See?" she asked. "It says it right there: _if a party is found in breach of this contract, their magic will be forfeit._"

"Good thing I'm not a party to this contract, then."

"Your father's signature is right there!"

"Yeah - and that makes _him_ a party of the contract. Not me."

"You inherited it, though, when he died."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Explain this to me. _How_ did I inherit that?"

"It says it explicitly in the contract. See - right here, under 'Familial Succession'."

"I want to make sure I understand you correctly. Two people sign a contract - and written in that contract is something that affects a third person. The third person _doesn't_ sign it... but they'll still somehow lose their magic if they don't obey what's written?"

"Yes!" Hermione sighed, glad that her friend finally saw her point of view.

"Great! Hey, Ron, could you help me out with something?"

Harry quickly scribbled on a bit of spare parchment:

_Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter agree to share a period of eating known as breakfast. Breakfast Succession: After this contracted meal has been ingested, responsibility will fall to Hermione Granger to clean up after them for perpetuity, lest her magic wither and fall barren._

Ron read the parchment and grinned. "I've always wanted a house elf!"

Hermione actually looked panicked, which made Harry inwardly amused. Honestly. If they lived in a universe where contracts could suck the magic out of people that didn't even sign them... how on earth would Voldemort even be a threat? Give Harry five minutes with a quill, and the rest of the story would feature an antagonist named 'Voldesquib'.

The pair quickly signed their names, thus sealing Hermione's doom.

* * *

It turned out, the new marriage contract was for Daphne Greengrass.

This, of course, made no sense to Harry.

"I don't get it," he complained to Ron. "Greengrass is barely mentioned in Canon. Hell, she's so minor of a character that her _hair color_ hasn't even been established; why is she suddenly ship-worthy?"

Ron shrugged.

"And why would the contract even exist?"

"Hm?"

"Well, the Greengrasses are 'neutral' - ever since she found out about the marriage contract, Daphne's been avoiding me and insisting that she not let anyone know she's associating with 'The Light'. It's like a pathological thing for her."

Ron frowned. "So?"

"Well, what the heck was the contract for, then? I mean, what did my dad obtain from signing it?"

"Maybe he wanted it to get the Greengrasses on our side during the last war?"

"On our side? I repeat, Daphne's paralyzed that someone might think she's ever even _talked_ with a Gryffindor. She spends all her time moaning that we can't be seen even being polite to one another, lest someone discover the horrible secret that she's associating with 'A Bloody Lion'. How the hell is that '_on our side_'? If that's the best support they can give in a fight against the dark lord - nervous paralysis - then they have to be the most pathetic allies I've ever seen."

"What if senior Greengrass was about to join up with Voldemort? And the contract convinced him to _stay_ neutral?"

"That'd... probably be even worse. So there's some random bloke - evil, blood-puritanical, and thinking Voldemort's got the right of it. My dad walks up to him and says, 'Hey, there, Mister Wants-To-Be-A-Deatheater; what do you say I marry off my son to your daughter in exchange for you not donning the white mask and black cloak?' What, was there a contest to see how much misery they could condemn into a baby's future love life? 'Hey, Harry, m'boy, just wanted to tell you, I betrothed you to a family that agrees with Voldemort! Enjoy!'"

Ron shrugged. "I really think you're putting too much thought into this. Does you being betrothed to Greengrass make any sense? No. No, it doesn't. But the author wants you to spend time with a woman that hates you. Some people like that thing – masochists, most likely. The more you try to avoid it, the more you're going to suffer in the long run."

Harry rolled his yes. "Thanks, Ron."

* * *

"... she _what?_" Hermione shrieked.

"She told Lucius Malfoy. Who, of course, told Voldemort."

"No... no! There's something you're missing. Tell it all again, from the start."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Okay, so Greengrass and I went out on a first date. We talked. At one point, I mentioned a weakness to a specific branch of magic - that I'm horrible at dealing with conjured animals. Anyway, she calls off the date. That night, when I'm sleeping, I get a vision from Voldemort - how Lucius is telling him my great weakness and Voldemort begins eagerly planning on exploiting it."

"Maybe... maybe someone overheard you during the date?"

"I used Muffliatio."

"Maybe she was just telling a friend later that day, and the friend told someone? Or Malfoy worked it out?"

"I doubt it. I'm pretty sure Greengrass just floo'd Malfoy Senior and told him herself." He didn't bother to point out that he _expected_ her to do it - which was why he lied about what his weakness was (he was Indepedent!Harry; he didn't _have_ weaknesses.)

"But... she _can't_, she _couldn't!_"

"She 'couldn't' betray me to Voldemort? Why not? The inherent trustworthiness of Slytherins we don't even know to refuse to associate with Voldemort?"

"Because... because it's a Marriage Contract Fic! You two have to come together and eventually form an unbreakable bond of love and unity, and present a unified front to the world. She _couldn't_ sell you out to Voldemort - she's narratively obligated to become a stalwart defender of blood-egalitarianism!"

"Er... is this like the 'Happy Couples Never Fight' rule?"

"Exactly!" Hermione beamed. "Marriage Contracts Always Work Out Perfectly."

* * *

Harry walked into the commons to see Ron morosely staring into the fire.

"Problem, Ron?"

"Yeah. This fic sucks. I looked over the script, and all I do is whine about Slytherins non-stop. Whine, whine, 'But she's a Slytherin', Whine Whine, 'Harry, you can't trust Slytherins', Whine Whine."

"Ehn, so you're slated to be the foil to my romantic happiness, then," Harry deadpanned. "That's new and unexpected, right? A brisk and refreshing change of pace?"

Ron grunted.

Harry half laughed, half snorted. "Yeah, I'm not happy about the direction this fic is taking, either. Hermione's still trying to convince me to 'open up' and 'trust' Greengrass, despite none of us ever having actually talked to her before two days ago."

They both sat silent for a while.

"Well," Ron offered, "It could be worse. Usually when authors are writing a crappy romance story and they don't know where to go next plot-wise, they just add in another woman and turn it into a harem story."

"Wait, what? How would adding more women into the mix make for a better tale? That just sounds like bad story-telling."

**Part 3b: Happy Harem Fun Times**

Harry paled. "Oh, this is bullshit!"

Ron merely sniggered.

"Harry!" Hermione squealed, running into the commons. The frizzy-haired girl threw herself onto the couch between the two boys (despite there clearly not being enough room); Harry unfortunately got to experience what her hair tasted like, as a few tangles got sucked into his airway while he breathed.

Ron seemed to notice his predicament... and merely sniggered all the more.

"Have you heard the news?" Hermione asked excitedly.

"...?" It was debatable whether Harry's lack of reply was due to speechlessness or that he was still struggling to get a loose hair out of his mouth (he didn't know what hair care products Hermione used, but they tasted _horrible_.)

Hermione, however, didn't notice. "This chapter's going to be a Harem Story!"

"So?" Harry asked, finally pffith'ing out the last bit of frizz.

"So you're going to have all sorts of women that you're going to fall in love with!"

"... what makes you think I'm going to be _in_ the harem?" Harry asked, keeping well clear of her hair. "Wouldn't the various Hogwarts girls go for someone older and better looking - like Cedric Diggory?"

"What?!" she spluttered. "But... the _whole point_ of a Harem story is so that _you_ get to be with multiple women."

"I mean, that supposes that a lot of different women would choose me over anyone else. Why do you think that's likely to happen?"

"Well," she said as if speaking to a particularly slow kindergartner, "it might be because you're the most eligible bachelor in the wizarding world."

"... er, what?" He looked over at Ron, who simply shrugged.

"Oh, come on!" Hermione half-shouted. "You're, well, _hot!_"

Harry's eyebrow raised further. "... since when are scrawny, too-short guys considered 'hot'? Isn't height one of the most important things women see in a guy? And I think I'm supposed to be an 'Everyman' character, which are categorically defined as _not_ being overly attractive."

Hermione, however, didn't appear to be listening. "Don't think all us girls didn't notice, Harry... all those quidditch practices... turning your body into a glistening, honed, drool-worthy slab of beef..." Hermione's sentence trailed off as she got a glazed look in her eyes.

"Hermione... Quidditch is a sport you play _sitting down_."

A fleck of drool emerged from Hermione's lip; it glistened from the light of the fireplace.

"I'm literally _sitting on my ass_ the entire time. And... even then, I don't have to do a lot. I mean, at least the chasers are flying around while catching and throwing something, and the beaters are darting about and hitting things with their bats. I spend 99% percent of my time just lazily circling from up above the action and slowly swiveling my head. It's really not that physically intensive of a sport - if you can even call it a sport - and I'm in the least demanding position."

The sparkling fleck of drool began its slow graceful descent to the floor.

"I mean, it's like saying, 'Hey, you're part of the Ravenclaw Bowling Team? You must have a really impressive abs'..."

Hermione bit her lip, her eyes still glazed. "Excuse me," she whispered. "I... er... need to... uh... I'll be back in a bit. All this talk about your physical conditioning and your ass and abs has, well, I just need to head back to my room for a while..."

* * *

"So, Harry! How's your Harem coming?"

"Hello, Luna."

"Can I be in it? Your sexy sexy harem?"

"Luna, I'm not making a harem."

"Yes you are, you just don't know it yet."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"It'll all start tonight after dinner, when she comes to you, giggling about a lost turnip."

"When who comes to me giggling?"

Luna merely smiled, and replied in a sing-song voice, "You'll see... just remember not to eat the potatoes at dinner, since the elves will be mad at what happens when _they_ arrive."

She began skipping away; Harry stared after her in incredulous confusion. Lost turnips? And who was this 'they' she referred to?

Ginny Weasley walked over. "You really should listen to her."

"... hmm?"

"You should listen to Luna. She's a Seer."

"A Seer? Lovegood?"

"Yes. She can see into the future."

"No, Ginny, she can't. Authors can't stand the idea of a decent person with flaws - Luna can't simply be weird for the sake of being weird - so they have to turn her pronouncements into something prophetic."

Ginny stamped her foot. "No! She's a Seer! Even now, all the readers are desperately going to be hoping to spot the turnip or potato plot-points before anyone else!"

Harry shook his head. "Personally, I'm just hoping we managed to find ourselves in the one story where Crumple-Horned Snorkacks _don't_ actually exist. Heaven forbid Lovegood actually be _wrong_ about something."

* * *

Ron, of course, wasn't paying attention to Binns (nobody was.)

Strangely, he has a confused, questioning look on his face; for a brief minute, Harry was worried that his best mate had been turned into an idiot after all (for the sake of the Narrative, of course.)

Instead, his best friend brought up a surprisingly interesting topic of conversation.

"Harry? Fred and George showed me some muggle Action Movies over the summer, and there was something strange I noticed. Every time one of the characters turned on the picture box..."

"Television," Harry corrected.

"Yeah, Television - anyway, whenever someone turned the television on, it was always the news playing something that was relevant. If they had just finished robbing a bank in the prior scene, and then turned on the television, it would be the news showing info on the bank robbery. Not a commercial, or the weather, or anything irrelevant."

"... yeah?" Harry asked.

"Well, do we have that sort of power?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, do you think would happen if we paid attention to Binns - I mean, really paid attention. Like the news? Do you think he'd somehow be saying something relevant to what's going on?"

Ron frowned, continuing. "I mean, if he was talking about all the boring aftereffects of some dull event, do you think the author would bother including five paragraphs of pointless dialogue?"

Harry's brow furled in thought. "You're right. They'd only include it if it was interesting or applicable or something. Otherwise, why would they add it?"

And the two did something they hadn't done since their first week of first year: They paid attention to Binns.

"... or longer. Our next segment will be about polygamy in both the magical and muggle world."

Harry and Ron looked at one another with grins; It worked!

"... unfortunately, polygamy has directly lead to terrorism in both magical and muggle societies. When considering polygamy, the focus is often on the small percentage of males with multiple wives, or on females in polygamous marriages - but the larger and more important effect is upon the majority of males that are unable to secure a relationship."

"In monogamous societies, the top 10% of the male population in terms of desirability still only marries 10% of the female population. This leaves a roughly-equal number of males and females remaining to be coupled together. But in polygamous societies, the top 10% of the male population marries a much larger percentage of the women - sometimes as much as 70%. This leaves the remaining 90% of males pursuing only 30% of the remaining females - and males in the lower half of desirability will often have no hope of securing a relationship."

"This population of futureless males is often shunted to terrorism. Muggle terrorism almost exclusively originates from countries with significant levels of polygamy, such as Saudi Arabia and northern Africa. Likewise, most magical terrorist organizations spring from polygamous countries; their membership is almost exclusively male. This leads many to believe that harems are inherently evil (regardless if every participant is willing) and that their existence is the entire reason dark lords have numerous devoted followers - overwhelmingly male, of course."

Harry's mouth fell. "Holy shit," he whispered to Ron. "Does that mean that authors who write Harem stories are endorsing terrorism?"

"Sure sounds like it to me!" Ron replied.

* * *

Daphne, Tracey, Pansy, Susan, Hannah, Su, Padma, Hermione, Ginny, Alicia, Angelina, Katie, Lavender, Parvati, Mandy, and Luna looked... well, pissed. Their prerequisite Harem King was putting on some sort of act - pretending like he was both exhilarated and terrified at having a girlfriend, and that he didn't have all the romantic know-how to keep a lady romantically happy - in other words, acting like he was some lousy 14-year-old.

Seamus, Dean, Neville, Terri, Draco, Vincent, Gregory, Blaise, Theodore, Ernie, Justin, Fred, and George looked... well, pissed. And thanks to Binn's lecture, Harry had an inkling why.

* * *

"Harry?" came a sniffling voice.

Harry turned around and saw... Pansy?

"Parkinson?" he asked, surprised at her apparently vulnerability. Wasn't it a felony for Slytherins to show weakness around Gryffindors?

"Harry," she replied. "Draco's treating me absolutely horrible."

"Yeah," Harry replied. "That's because he's _Draco Malfoy_. The boy's not exactly the poster-child for congeniality."

"I just... I was hoping... that someone could show me generosity and grace and empathy and love - show me that I'm worthy of being cared for."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"I just... Harry, I've been treated so badly for so long, and I was hoping you could show me what it's like to have a guy treat me well, to treat me like a lady."

Harry gaped. "You know, I'm not a feminist, but even _I'm_ uncomfortable by this."

"Why? What did I do?" Pansy sobbed.

"You're feeling bad because some guy treated you bad - and so you feel like you're worthless... and you're looking for another guy to treat you well so you'll feel better? Listen, you shouldn't validate your existence from others, let alone 14-year-old boys. Pick up the pieces, be independent - and worry about guys _later_, after you figure out how to be yourself and be happy with who you are."

"Oh, Harry," Pansy cried, throwing her arms around him. "You know just what to say to make me feel worthwhile. I'll... I'll join your harem."

Harry was speechless.

* * *

"Harry?"

"Yes?" Harry turned around to see Susan Bones walking tentatively up to him (though turning took a bit longer than usual; it was made difficult by Pansy clinging tightly to his right pantleg.)

"I was wondering," Susan softly said, "if you could come by my house this summer?"

"... why?"

"Well, I have this feeling that my aunt and I are going to be attacked by Death Eaters, and that somehow you'll be around to save us both."

"... your aunt is Amelia Bones, right?"

"Yes."

"Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Yes."

"So, basically, she's been part of a group of people that have trained for _decades_ on how to stop dark wizards - and she's good enough at it that she never died, never suffered permanent injury, and rose through the ranks until she was running the show."

"Yes."

Harry didn't know what to say for a few seconds. "That's... that's the dumbest thing I've heard so far. You realize that I know practically _nothing_ about fighting, right? I have no experience in combat, and in an auror's eyes would be an underage civilian liability to be protected - and you somehow expect me to outclass someone that has decades of real-world experience and training?"

"Harry, I trust you," Susan said happily. "You'll do great when the moment comes. You know... I didn't really approve of the whole multiple-girlfriends thing, but... well... I think I'd be okay with sharing you. I'll join your harem."

* * *

Harry strode through the castle, a clingy co-dependent insecure Slytherin and a blinded-by-hero-worship Hufflepuff wrapped around him.

Okay, it wasn't so much 'striding' as 'Huffing with annoyance while looking like a kid wearing three sets of winter clothes trying to walk around in a snowstorm.' But Harry somehow made it look sexy; it was probably all the intense Quidditch sitting practice.

"Harry...?"

Harry turned around to see Padma Patil staring at him questioningly. "Harry, can we talk for a bit?"

"No," Harry said, holding up a hand. "No, no, no, no, no."

"I understand," Padma swallowed. "You already have two girlfriends, and you probably just see me as a twin of Pavarti; you don't know how tough it is when people look at me and assume that there..."

Harry groaned. "Are we going to go through a stupid character-development chapter for each girl that inevitably decides to join my harem?"

Padma's lip quivered. "You... you think I deserve my own character-development chapter?" Padma asked hopefully. "You mean, I don't have to share one with my twin sister - that... you see me for my own person? You know, I think I might join your harem after all."

Harry groaned again.

* * *

Harry inched into the Great Hall.

It was tough; there were currently 23 girls clinging to him - several of which were miscellaneous female names mentioned once in the books. Or worse, were merely names listed on JK's drawing board that didn't even make it into the books; Su Li waved at this, her (presumably) asian face grinning at being included.

"Harry, m'boy," Dumbledore said, his eyes flashing... then flickering... before slowly settling into their warm twinkle.

"Hello, headmaster."

"I was looking forward to advancing my evil plot, but I see we've got larger difficulties." He gestured to the girls hanging onto Harry. "I trust by now you realize why they're doing that?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "It's been making getting anything done a pure nightmare."

"It's symbolic, Harry."

"Wait... they represent women dragging down men and making their lives more difficult?! That's... uh, well, that's just a bit, you know, sexist."

"No, no, Harry," Dumbledore said, smiling. "Them dragging you down symbolizes what Harem stories do to actual plot."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Your first year, there were roughly six main characters: you, your two best friends, Mister Malfoy, Severus Snape, and Quirinus Quirrel. Your second year, a few of them dropped out and a few new ones were introduced, like Gilderoy Lockhart, Lucius Malfoy, and Dobby. Your third year was centered around you, your best friends, the old Marauders, and Severus Snape, with everyone else fading to secondary importance."

Harry frowned. "And?"

"Stories typically have a limited set of characters, because you can only do authentic character development on so many people before things start losing focus and cohesion."

Harry nodded, finally understanding. "So if you can only do real character-development on a half-dozen or so characters, and I've got a half-dozen girls in a harem... they're taking up all the space that could've been devoted to plot-important people like villains and such. Instead of cool characters like Quirrel and Sirius and Lockhart getting time to shine..." He trailed off.

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, smiling. "Why, dozens of chapters can go by where nothing happens plot-wise - all because the story is dragged down into development on the various interchangeable and ultimately replaceable women in your harem."

Dumbledore sighed. "I had a really intriguing plot planned out as well - to finally prove my Evil credentials and bring about your downfall in one fell, machinating swoop. But I didn't have any time in the narrative, because you were too busy with Pansy and Luna and Hermione and all the rest."

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry said. "You... could do your plot now, if you'd like?"

"No, alas my dear boy, if I spring doom on you without any foreshadowing or lead-up, it won't be dramatically satisfying."

Harry twitched at the last two words.

"Quite a shame, m'boy - it was unique, interesting and engaging, but I'm sure nobody would want to read something like _that_," Dumbledore replied with a genial shrug. "Oh well; at least Minvera is still on the schedule for her attempted assassination."

"Wait, what?!"

* * *

Please Review


	4. More Hermione Nonsense

**Chapter 4: More Granger Nonsense**

Harry was getting tired of SPEW. Hermione, for all her positive traits, was about the worst spokeswoman a cause could ever have. Maybe it was time for him to take a swing at it?

With a bit of a smirk, he began writing.

* * *

Ron, Seamus, and Dean walked into the Gryffindor commons... only to have their mouths fall as they heard Hermione and Harry arguing rather vocally with one another.

"Listen, there is _nothing wrong_ with owning one!"

"Yes there is, Harry! And you can't _own_ one, they're not property, they're living, breathing people!"

"I'm surprised you haven't read more."

"I've read plenty!"

"Then you'd know that the general written consensus is that they can't survive unless they have a family to serve, that they die if they're free for too long, that they enjoy their servitude. That their work gives them a purpose that it'd be cruel to withhold from them."

"No, it's cruel what we're doing to them!" Hermione shrieked. "I can't believe you'd endorse this!"

"Endorse it? I fully intend to buy one within a few years."

"What?! That's completely immoral, and I can't believe you'd take part in it!"

"You're judging this like their humans. They're not - they are _not_ humans. Plus, they _enjoy_ serving - go ahead, _ask one_."

"Oh, they say they enjoy it, do they? As if they would disagree with their master in front of others?"

Ron finally spoke up. "Are you two arguing about SPEW? Hermione, I tol..."

"Actually," Hermione interrupted with a bit of smug superiority. "We're practicing lines from Harry's new play."

"... huh?"

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding. "It's a play about the cultural perceptions towards black people during the era of slavery."

Hermione smiled in a way that sent cold shivers down Ron, Seamus, and Dean's spines. "I did some period research. You wouldn't _believe_," she said with a fake cheeriness, "how many authors back in those days happily parroted ideas like 'Black people can't survive without White People', 'Black people are happy with their lot in life', or 'Serving white people gives black people a purpose in their life.'"

Hermione smiled further, causing the three boys to swallow nervously. "I can't _imagine_ why you'd think we'd be talking about House Elves. Why, there's absolutely nothing at all similar between the two subjects. There's absolutely no reason to think that House Elves are symbolic of the earlier days of slavery. Oh, Dobby?"

The house elf appeared before them. "Is you be wanting something, Master Hermione?"

Hermione smirked in triumph before walking up to her dormitory. "Why, there's no _way_ a black slave would talk like that," she called over her shoulder.

Seamus frowned. "First the author accuses Harem writers of endorsing terrorism, and now he's accusing Harry-Binds-Dobby writers of supporting the slavery of black people? Ever get the feeling that the author's, well, kind of a dick?"

* * *

"So, Harry, you up for round two?"

"Absolutely," Harry replied, grinning. This whole Write-A-Play idea for SPEW was coming along really well! "Where should arrange it this time? Ravenclaw commons? Quidditch pitch?"

"Great Hall," Hermione answered. "Simpler, that way."

"Sounds like a plan!"

* * *

And it was at that moment that Harry learned a valuable lesson.

_Do _not_ agree to something with Hermione unless you knew for sure what you were signing up for._

"Hermione... why is the Great Hall empty? Are we supposed to start and hope other people arrive?"

Hermione didn't get a chance to answer. At that moment, two muggles strode into the Great Hall. One of them was carrying a Cricket Bat.

"Hermione," Harry squeaked. "Why are your parents here?!"

"Round two," Hermione said, as if the answer was obvious. "Last time I tried to introduce you, you ran out before all of us could really get to know each another."

"That's not what I thought you meant by Round 2!" Harry shrieked. His eyes darted around; he was clearly looking for a Round 2 Retreat as well.

Hermione noticed his panic. "Harry," she pleaded. "You agreed! You promised!"

Her heartfelt begging managed to stall Harry just long enough for a meaty hand to clamp down on his shoulder. Mr. Granger, it seemed, was _also_ looking forward to a second round. "I think it's about time we had a nice... _discussion_... don't you?"

Harry let out another squeak.

"Harry," Hermione said, barreling forward in a perfunctory voice. "I'd like you to meet my parents, Danielle and Emmet and Granger."

"It's nice to meet you, Daniel," Harry said, offering to shake her father's hand (which was a bit awkward, since the older man's hand was still clamped down controlling on his shoulder, and his other hand was currently occupied with a cricket bat.)

The father looked at him strangely. "I'm _Emmet_. My _wife's_ name is Danielle."

"Wait... what?" Harry asked, confused. For some reason, this seemed awfully strange, like those names were... mixed or something. "Are... are you sure?"

"I think I know my own name, son," Mr. Granger said with a raised eyebrow.

"Harry," Hermione said, smacking his arm. "You're being rude!"

"I could whack him with the bat if it'd help, honey?" Mr. Granger offered.

Mrs. Granger would have none of it. "Emmet Watson Granger! You knock that off right this instant!"

Harry felt a bit faint, and he had no clue why. "I... think I'm going to have to sit down."

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Granger said. "You look quite ill. Hermione, dear, will you please take your boyfriend to the infirmary while I talk with your father?"

Hermione nodded.

As they were walking out of the hall, Harry asked, "Hermione, by chance, is Danielle Granger's middle name Radcliffe?"

"No," Hermione replied in a confused voice. "That'd be awfully strange."

"Oh, good," Harry whispered in a relieved voice.

"It's Felton."

"..."

* * *

Snape was not a happy man.

That has nothing to do with this chapter. He's just not generally a happy man.

Next chapter, though?

Snape knew he'd already pressed his luck in letting the story continue as-is for this long. If he wasn't careful, he'd be drawn into a Snilch or SnaGonagall fic (those exist, right? Or is it just twenty million Snotter and Snanger stories?)

No, this had to stop. It was time to brew a rather particular potion.

* * *

"So, here's the plan," Hermione said in a firm voice. "This summer, you're going to be living at my place."

Harry blinked. "Dumbledore cleared this?"

"No. Dumbledore doesn't know, and we're not going to tell him."

"Oh." Harry frowned. "So what's stopping Death Eaters from attacking us?"

"Please," Hermione replied, snorting. "How would they even find us? A phone book? These are the worst sort of purebloods - they'd have no idea how to even use one."

Harry frowned further. "Phone books have been around for over a hundred years, Hermione - there's a good chance at least _one_ of them has heard of them. And even if they didn't, wouldn't the first thing they do be to ask how from a..."

"Be realistic, Harry. This is a fanfic: the Death Eaters are completely incompetent. We'll be fine."

* * *

Voldemort nodded. It was time to strike. Sure, his followers were incompetent (this was a fanfic), but he was still confident. Because, as the wise saying went: Evil always wins, because Good is _dumb_.

"Carrow, I have a mission for you. Take a dozen followers, and destroy the Granger house."

"How do I find it, my lord?"

"Ask Severus. He's lived in a muggle community at Spinner's End, and knows how to look these things up in a phone book."

And then Voldemort resolved to also do that himself as well from within the lair (remembering, of course, that all his minions were idiots in these fanfics.) After all, Tom Riddle grew up in a muggle orphanage.

Honestly, what were these heroes even thinking?

* * *

"Carrow, I thought we were supposed to ask Snape for directions?" one of the NPC death eaters asked.

"Pfth. We're not getting that bastard's help - and not just because it'd make this chapter really really short. We can do this on our own."

"You sure? This sounds like one of those 'Fanction Only Has Incompetent Death Eaters' plot thingies."

"We'll be _fine_. There's only, what, like a few thousand muggles in England, right? Can't be too hard."

* * *

Carrow and his dozen men emerged into King's Cross (that's where all the muggles lived, right?)

Unfortunately, Hermione was nowhere to be seen; obviously, she was hiding. That cunning shrew!

He yelled in a loud voice, "Does anyone here know Hermione Granger?!"

Everyone just gave them a strange look before continuing about their ways.

"Obviously, they're concealing her," Carrow said, a dark glimmer in his eyes. "_Imperio!_"

The nearest muggle - a housewife in her mid-forties - obediently trudged over to them.

"Where is Hermione Granger?!" Carrow demanded.

"I don't know who that is," the muggle replied.

"You _WILL_ tell me," he raged. "I'm going to torture you until you give me what I need to find her."

"You could look her up in a phone book?" the muggle replied.

"You know the secrets of the Book of Fone?!" What the hell? What were the chances that the first muggle they find happens to be one that, like Severus, knew the dark secret art of locating people in the muggle world?

"Yes," the woman replied. It was a good thing she was under Imperio, because she otherwise would've answered in a sardonic tone that would probably cause her to eat a Cruciatus.

"Then do it!" Carrow commanded.

The woman led the Death Eaters over to a telephone booth and began flipping through a tome hanging from within.

"What?" Carrow exclaimed in a amazed voice. "They just... they just left the Book of Fone out in the open?! Death Eaters! Secure this area! Kill _anyone_ that approaches!"

45 seconds and 3 muggle casualties later, the housewife replied, "There are 12 Grangers listed in the book."

"Ah," Carrow said, suddenly understanding. Obviously the mudblood had cast a spell to disguise her true location - they would have no idea which of those 12 locations was the real one; the rest would undoubtedly lead to a cunning trap to kill them all.

Well, perhaps their sortie had a bit of luck after all. He had a dozen of cannon-fodder henchmen at his disposal...

* * *

Carrow and a junior death eater made their way to the first address on the list. He supposed he should ask the younger accomplice what his name was; but Carrow found that he really didn't care. The man'd be dead within the hour anyway when Potter killed him (that's how these fics always seemed to go, it seemed.)

Carrow felt compelled to let the young man know this; surprisingly, this didn't seem to perk the recruit up very much.

"This is our address," Carrow finally said in a low, dangerous voice. Across the street, a one-story Tudor-style house sat. Ominously, like only a Tudor could.

"Do you think it's the right one?" his cohort asked.

"_Crucio,_" Carrow replied. Honestly, what the hell - did he _always_ end up with the recruit that questioned everything? Potter couldn't possibly show up soon enough.

Both of them watched (well, the second one mostly twitched on the ground) and waited.

Ten minutes later, a strange contraption rolled along the street and stopped in front of the house.

"Wait," the younger Death Eater asked. "We all know what an automobile looks like - it's not like the Ford Anglia surprised us when it was in the newspaper a few years ago. Why is the author describing it like we're time travelers from the middle ages? We can't be _that_ idiotic in this fanfic, can we?"

"_Crucio,_" Carrow replied. Stupid recruits.

... and from out of that strange exotic metal contraption came four individuals, like it was some sort of portable floo! Crazy muggles! The new arrivals: Emmet Granger, Danielle Granger, Hermione Granger... and Harry Potter! The raging independent teen-warrior that would kill them all if given half a chance.

"Abort!" Carrow hissed in alarm. "We must report back in to our master!"

Carrow quickly apparated away before Harry could wield his deadly deadly skills of Death Eater Slaying.

* * *

Harry heard a crack and looked around. Did someone apparate here? Did the Order send someone to give them a message?

... and then, Harry spotted the 'arrival' - apparently, it was a Death Eater! Strangely, they were simply convulsing on the ground. Harry recognized the signs pretty easily: Post-Crucio Twitching. Did the man just come from Voldemort's clutches or something?

Harry just stared at the man across the street, wondering what the heck was going on. Should... should he offer to help? Call the aurors? Stun him?

"Don't kill me!" the junior death eater screamed in a panicked voice.

Harry frowned. What on earth? Why would the Death Eater think Harry was going to kill him?

"Please!" the man begged, sobbing into the grass. "Don't slaughter me like a bug underfoot and send me back to Voldemort as a message of your newfound and immense powers!"

Harry blinked. Maybe the man was just crazy?

The death eater trailed off, wondering why his deadly nemesis wasn't doing anything. And then the slow realization. He knew that there was only one reason the ruthless Lord Potter would be stalling. He was trying to think of the most painful, malignant, dastardly magic to use. Horrified images went through the dark wizard's mind. Maybe a eyeball-popping hex? A spell that would make his clothes turn into magma? A curse that would transform his blood into a slow-dissolving acid? A necromancy ritual to cause his skin to shrivel like centuries-old parchment as his insides festered from a dozen different plagues? A horrifying bit of magic that did them all of the above _simultaneously?_

The death eater let out a terrified shriek at the possibilities and then attempted to apparate.

There was a reason you shouldn't try to teleport while terrified and trembling from a prior crucio.

The death eater tried to go back to Death Eater Headquarters, but ended up splinching himself into several hundred pieces, spread across three separate time zones.

"Er..." Harry stammered softly, trying to decide how he was supposed to react to all of this. Finally, he decided to give it up as a bad job.

Hey, it could've been worse: he could've been with Amelia Bones when it happened. Then he'd never hear the end of him 'Rescuing' Susan and her aunt.

* * *

Voldemort smiled upon Carrow – who, sure enough, had the correct address that the Dark Lord had looked up three hours ago. "You have done well, Amycus. Finding both the Grangers _and_ Harry Potter? You will be awarded beyond your wildest dreams."

... and that's the story of how Amycus Carrow came to own a beachside resort in La Spezia.

The rest of this chapter will feature the exploits of Alecto Carrow.

* * *

Carrow (the non-retired one) had the address and was about to take 36 death eaters to attack (that way Harry could sate his notable bloodlust on a dozen or two without jeopardizing the mission.

... but when they arrived a half-block away (to avoid the obviously-present wards that would be shielding the house), they found that the place was empty.

"They've already left!"

"Shit!" Alecto shouted, visions of a twin La Spezia beachside resort fading rapidly.

Unfortunately, the muggle post-man happened to be walking by at that time.

"_Imperio!_ Muggle! Tell me what you know! Where did they go?!"

"Where did who go?" the postman answered in a bewildered (yet deadened) voice.

"The Grangers!"

"I don't know."

"I'm going to torture you for hours until you tell me how to find them!" Carrow screamed.

"You could always leave a voicemail for them for when they get back."

"Voice Mail?" Carrow asked, her eyes blazing. "You will deliver this 'Voice Mail' to their doorstep! Or you, and your family, and your, er, family's family's family will die!"

"Okay."

The 36 death eaters followed the postman to a nearby telephone booth. After consulting with a strange tome of knowledge, the man began pressing buttons on the odd muggle artifact inside.

Not trusting this postman (who knew if the man was triggering some sort of obscure muggle trap?!) Carrow threw him aside and pulled the telephone to her ear.

"Hello," came a voice from one of the ends. "You've reached the Granger househ..."

"You cannot hide," Carrow hissed mercilessly. "We will find you, will kill you, and then we will torture you!"

"... we're not here right now..."

"You _Dare_ taunt me?" Carrow screamed. "_Crucio!_"

(The phone didn't seem to mind.)

"... but if you leave a message after the tone, we'll get back to you as soon as you can. _Beep_."

Alecto was speechless. She handed the phone back to the muggle postman - who, in turn, hung it back up on the receiver.

"They said they'll come back to us," she said in a confused voice.

* * *

All things considered, Harry probably would've rather been back at the Granger household - death eaters or no.

Instead, he was in a Ministry interrogation room, for the potential-murder of Maledictus Malconvoke, a pure-hearted innocent young man in his twenties that was _certainly_ not a suspect member of the Dark Lord's service.

"Why don't you start over from the beginning, Potter," one of the interrogators said.

"I told you. I walked outside, and there was a Death Eater. Black robe, white mask, you know. He was laying on the ground, twitching."

"Yeah, I imagine he'd be twitching, seeing you there," the other auror replied. "Word of your Death Eater slaying proclivities isn't exactly a secret."

"Why'd you blast him like that?" the first prodded. "Made identifying his body a right pain."

"I didn't blast him!" Harry half-shouted.

"Listen, kid. I've been an auror for a long time, and I've never seen a victim that badly pulverized. The biggest chunk of 'em we found was smaller than my left nut."

"He splinched himself!" Harry protested.

"Sure, sure. _'Splinched himself'._ Keep sticking to that story, kid."

Harry put his forehead in his hands.

The door squeaked open, admitting a middle-aged woman with a rather serious look on her face. "You two can leave. I'll finish this investigation personally."

"Yes, Captain Bones."

Amelia stared at Harry with a dark look on her face. "I'm disappointed in you, Mister Potter."

Harry groaned.

"We just found out that, despite all the signs, Mr. Malconvoke actually _was_ a dark wizard. Still, what you did was completely unacceptable: you do not have authorization to perform lethal force and turn your enemies into corpse confetti."

Harry groaned further.

"... which is why I've just finished signing papers _giving_ you said authorization. Officially, I can't comment on the bang-up job you did turning that bastard death-eater into salsa roja, nor can I request that you keep it up giving it to those masked arses. So, instead, I'll just leave you with the Floo Address to my niece, who later tonight may or may not be home all alone, wearing negligee."

* * *

Hermione intercepted Harry as he was on his way back to the Grangers (where, currently, 36 death eaters were inside and discovering the wide world of internet porn.)

"Harry, we can't go back to my house! They somehow found out where I live! They're in my house right now!"

"Really," Harry said in a heavy, exasperated voice. "I wonder how _that_ happened."

"I wondered too," Hermione sobbed. "So I found out that the Death Eaters did something that none of us could _possibly_ have anticipated..."

"... they made a Muggle help them?" Harry guessed.

"They made a muggle help them!" Hermione wailed.

Harry groaned.

* * *

Harry decided he was done with this nonsense. He was returning to Hogwarts.

When he arrived, though, Snape intercepted him on the grounds.

"Potter, we do not have much time."

"What is it," Harry asked, alarmed by Snape's tone of voice.

"I have just found out that the next chapter is... _Snary._"

"Snary?" Harry asked.

"Yes."

Harry frowned. "Okay? So?"

Snape blinked. "You don't see a problem with that?"

"Well, I have to admit, I am a bit surprised. It's not unwelcome, though."

Snape's mouth fell.

"Actually, it'd probably be a nice change of pace. I think I might look forward to it."

Snape let out a pitiful whimper.

"I mean, _finally_, we get an Original Character."

Snape drew back, a confused look on his face.

Harry smiled. "Well, come on. Rowling only named a few dozen students in the school, but she said there were over a thousand attendees. That means, for every 'Terri Boot' we know the name for, there's a few dozen unknown students that are just waiting to be involved in a story. It's about time one of them gets to be written. So I'm going to be with an Original Character, apparently with a first name that starts with 'SN'."

Snape closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Rather strange, though. A girl's name starting with 'SN'? Must be something like Snow or Snowy - hopefully that doesn't mean it's a Mary-Sue."

Snape groaned. "What if it's a 'SN' name of someone that already exists in cannon?"

"What? Pffh. Nobody's going to write a Harry-Snuffles story."

Snape stared at him.

Harry stared back.

Snape stared some more.

And then Harry finally figured out just what 'Snarry' implied.

_"SHIT!"_ Harry swore.

"Yes, quite," Snape said, relieved that the boy-who-lived now understood. "Which is why I've brewed a potion to avoid the whole thing."

"Poison?" Harry asked. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not ruling suicide out, mind you, but there's got to be a better answer to Snary."

"It's a Time Travel potion, Mister Potter."

"What? Like a Time Turner? Wouldn't that simply transport me to a time where you and I are closer in age - and make it _more_ likely for 'Snary' to happen?"

"No, that's not how the potion works."

That brought Harry up short. "... how does it work, then?"

"It transports your consciousness back and transplants it in your younger body - and through some quirk, it always seems to magically put you on the day you received your Hogwarts Letter, regardless of when you ingest it."

"Wait... it 'transports my consciousness' back? Like, I get to relive all my days and years all over again?"

"Yes."

"That... doesn't make any sense."

"You're in a fanfiction about a book series in which a young boy who discovers he's a wizard destined to battle a red-eyed snake-man. Why is this any stranger?"

"Because it doesn't make sense!" Harry shouted. "If... if Wizards can do this, the world would look completely different! We'd be living in a place that wouldn't look like this at all!"

"Explain, Potter."

"Okay, the first person that learns to brew that potion? Let's say they secretly want to cure every disease on the planet. Then they keep taking that potion, over and over again, spending lifetime after lifetime learning how to treat every known malady on the planet. Or let's say they wanted to rule the world. They keep taking the potion, over and over again, until they figure out just what steps they need to do. Oh, my Secret Volcanic Lair was invaded on February 2nd, 1989? Time to take the potion again, and this time, I'll quadruple the guard on that particular day. The very existence of this sort of ability would change the world so fundamentally that we can't even _imagine_ what the final outcome would look like! That potion would be a god-mode-enabling, _'I Win Everything'_ elixir."

Harry was emitting spittle at this point. "Plus, you're the _last_ person on earth that should be able to brew that potion, because if you could, _why the hell would you be living in a world where you have any regrets?_ Oh, you got Lily Potter killed by telling Voldemort the prophecy? Go back and figure out a way to save her. Oh, you were embarrassed by James Potter during your school days? Go back and figure out a way to turn the tables. Oh, you ended up serving a madman that wants to kill all the muggles? Go back and figure out a way to kill him. You should be living in an absolute paradise, because you have the ability to shift every single element of reality to suit your preferences!"

Snape looked back and forth between Harry and the potion he was about to hand over. "You're right, Potter. With this potion, I could... I could make everything right, and even rule the world, if I wanted..."

Harry swallowed. "Let me guess... I should've went on my tirade _after_ you handed it over to me?"

Snape smiled humorlessly. And quickly drank it himself.

* * *

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	5. Yet Another Time Travel Fic

**Part 5: Yet Another Time Travel Fic**

Harry swallowed. "Let me guess... I should've went on my tirade _after_ you handed it over to me?"

Snape smiled humorlessly. And quickly drank the time-travel elixir.

Hah - just kidding. You know what would happen if Snape drank the time travel deus-ex-machina draught while in a story revolving around Harry Potter's Point-Of-View? It would be freaking epic. I mean, it'd be like if someone told Groundhog's Day from _Rita's_ perspective in dealing with an increasing erratic Bill Murray. It'd be an interesting and unique twist on story-telling that you'd never seen before!

Which, of course, is why you're not getting it. So buckle up for yet another Harry-Travels-Back-In-Time fic!

Snape grumbled about the unfairness of it all, and handed the potion over to Harry.

Harry, of course, was the one to drink the potion.

* * *

Harry woke up with a start. Was that a cannon blast he heard?

"Where's the cannon?" Dudley asked.

'Oh, right,' Harry thought. 'It always takes you back to when you got your Hogwarts letter.' Pure coincidence that it's around the first movie's plot starts, right?

Hagrid burst through the door, committed a few lines of forgettable dialogue, and then said, "Yer a wizard, Harry!"

Harry was sort of spaced out, though – and he pretty much ignored the whole argument between the Hogwarts groundskeeper and his family. He was too busy trying to think through all the ramifications of his going back in time - and all the stuff he was going to have to do (or, do over.)

"This is it, Harry," Hagrid said, drawing him out of his reflection.

"This is what?" he asked.

"This is the _moment_," Hagrid said, nudging him with a comically oversized elbow. "The moment yeh finally tell them Dursleys what you think of them and their treatment of yeh over the years."

Harry swallowed and nodded.

He turned to Vernon and Petunia. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry."

Vernon and Petunia blinked.

Hagrid raised an eyebrow. "You mean, yer sorry, but yer going ter have to hex them? Or, sorry, but you think they're a waste of space? Sorry, but they're going ter have to die?"

"... er, what? No!" Harry shook his head. "Listen, I'm sorry for what happened to you - especially you, Aunt Petunia." As Harry finally thought about it, really _thought_ about what his relatives had been put through...

"You... you had a sister," Harry continued, stumbling a bit. "And she entered this strange world, a world that's backwards and unenlightened and deadly. Later, when you married and had a son, you found out a murderous psychopath was trying to kill your sister - and you were worried the rest of your family would get drawn into that conflict, that your son and your husband would be slaughtered. You just... you just wanted your family to be safe, for them to have nothing to do with that sort of dangerous world."

Petunia's lip trembled a bit and she cut in. "And then she was murdered - that madman murdered my sister."

She couldn't seem to finish.

Harry nodded. "And then other wizards dragged _your_ family into the whole thing when they placed me here on your doorstep, which meant they were placing your whole family in the same sort of danger that had killed your sister - and you couldn't do anything about it. I just wanted to say I'm sorry for what happened. You just wanted to live your lives - and while I don't really forgive how you've treated me over the years, I guess... well, I guess I can at least understand it."

Harry turned to Hagrid. "I'm ready to go, now."

Hagrid frowned. "Harry, when I said you were supposed ter tell the Dursleys what yeh thought of 'em, yeh were supposed to be an ungrateful smartass on a hair-trigger and possibly even cast some illegal spells on 'em. Yer not supposed to have empathy, forgiveness, or grace!"

Harry shrugged.

Hagrid sighed. "This fic is going ter suck."

* * *

Harry walked into the Owl Store. It had a name, but it had a rather convoluted spelling and the author was too lazy to google it.

In the back, Harry saw her - his faithful strigine companion: Hedwig.

"This is bullshit," the owner swore. "The author is too lazy to look up my store's name, but he's showing off by looking up the equine/bovine/feline version of _owl_? What the hell? Who even uses the word 'Strigine' in a conversation?"

Passerbys within earshot of his diatribe looked over with curious, strigine glances.

Harry ignored them all. He was too intent on Hedwig.

Hedwig, however, was too engrossed in her current task to notice him, and was in the middle of a rather tricky bit of differential equations.

"Hedwig," Harry called softly.

Hedwig finally looked at her once-and-future owner. She gave him a look and hooted. Sure, it was just a glance and a regular owl hoot, but it somehow clearly conveyed, _'It's nice to meet you, Harry Potter, but I'm in the middle of trying to derive an alternative to string theory using Euler's Formula as a base for quantum interactions. If you'll just give me a minute to finish my train of thought, I'll be with you shortly.'_

Harry nodded in understanding.

A few minutes later, Hedwig seemed to finish her work. She then pooped; white liquid squirting onto newspapers lining her cage. But she did so in a way that unmistakably said, _'It appears complex numbers aren't going to be sufficient for my purposes. This will take more thought later on. In any case, I'm ready to depart this store and serve as your familiar hence-forth.'_

"Agreed," Harry said, nodding.

* * *

As Harry was walking along the sidewalks, on the outskirts of some London suburb, he noticed a rather strange building. It looked like an eastern temple of some sort.

"Oh, no. Not this _again_," Harry groaned.

"Huyah!" came a unified set of yells from inside.

"No, no, no, no no. Really, can we just skip this part? I mean, do I have to learn a martial art in every story?"

A wise old asian man stepped outside. Because everyone knows you can't have a martial arts group run by a white person. Or someone under the age of 60.

"Ah, a new student," the man called out.

"No, no, I was just walking by," Harry replied nervously. "Please, I, I just want to get back to..."

The asian man laughed. "You so funny, Wehgukin. You come inside now."

Harry blinked. "This is vaguely racist."

"It's time for you to rearn Tae Kwon Do."

"Rearn? _Definitely_ racist."

* * *

Harry exited the Dojang, his Gi splattered with sweat and blood from another rough round of Wudan with his Sensei.

"Wait, what? Dojang is a Korean School, Gi is a japanese uniform I think, and... isn't Wudan a Chinese thing?"

Which, of course, made sense. Because his instructor - the venerable old asian man of ultimate fighting proficiency - was a master of 23 different martial arts; obviously Tae-Kwon-Do, Karate, and Kung-Fu were among those numerous styles, which _obviously_ explained why the author was mixing and matching martial arts concepts! Not due to cluelessness!

"Uh... I thought it took something like two decades to earn mastery in a martial art. _Nobody_ has a mastery in dozen different ones, and if they did, they wouldn't be running a rinky-dink school with a few dozen students in t..."

The old Asian man strode out of the Dojang after Harry. "It is time," he said softly, interrupting his pupil's diatribe of the author, his asian voice dripping with wise asianness.

"... it's what time?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Time for you to set out into the world," the man replied (still asianly.) "For you have learned all that I have to teach you."

Harry was about to reply that it was ridiculously stupid to think it was possible for a 10 year old to learn everything an old man had to teach... but then he realized the author was shooting for a crappy imitation of a martial arts movie. Possibly because martial arts movies were the extent of their knowledge about the subject (and if you couldn't trust Hollywood, who could you trust, right?)

Fine. Harry could play this game.

"Only because I had such a good teacher," Harry replied back, trying to sound sage. It, surprisingly, didn't work well coming from a 11-year-old british boy.

"It's the student that makes the teacher," the man replied with Asianness.

"Then I'm proud to have made you that good teacher."

The asian nodded, apparently happy with the level of contrived, phony mysticism. "Now, Harry-San, you must go forth, and use your techniques to beat the crap out of anyone that even slightly disrespects you."

Harry blinked. "I thought martial arts were about learning self control, self discipline, and self restraint?"

"No, Harry-San" the instructor replied. "It's for learning how to break every bone in Draco Malfoy's body. You must become the very avatar of douchebaggery, inflicting harm against anyone that dares voice something you don't approve of."

Harry sighed. Hagrid was right. This fic was going to suck.

* * *

Sirius sat in his Azkaban cell, smirking. Soon... soon he would be free.

Bellatrix looked at her relative, grinning away in his cell. "You're awfully happy."

"That's because I'm in a _fanfiction_," Sirius replied with a grin. "And it's always a race to see how fast the author can bust me out of jail. They _never_ let me sit in here for too long."

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow.

"Why, there are some stories where Pettigrew is caught and I'm freed in the span of _two paragraphs_."

Bellatrix simpered. "Is it possible for me to get out, too?"

Sirius shrugged. "The cliche Azkaban-Breakout will inevitably be halfway through the story. You'll get out then."

"I don't want to wait that long!"

Sirius shrugged. "Well, there's always the kinky Bellatrix-and-Harry-take-on-the-world-while-boning-each-other ship."

Bellatrix frowned. "Isn't he a half-blood?"

Sirius didn't get a chance to answer; a metal clanging announced his cell door opening up.

"You've been exonerated, Black," the guard said. "Minister Fudge passed the announcement just today."

Sirius smirked. It was time to get out of here and...

* * *

"You want to what?" Harry asked in alarm.

Sirius grinned. "I want to teach you how to be an animagus."

"Isn't that Harry-Becomes-An-Animagus trope being overdone to the point of cliche?"

"Nah."

Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Well, yes," Sirius admitted. "But there are _so many_ different animals you could turn into. So it doesn't feel old, because while there are twelve trillion stories of you learning to turn into an animal, there's only a few dozen of you turning into a Panther, or a few dozen of you turning into a falcon, or a few dozen of you turning into a dragon, or a few dozen..."

"I get the point," Harry groaned. "So... how does this work?"

"With a potion and meditation..."

"Holy shit," Harry swore. "Isn't that how _all_ animagus stories go? Couldn't anyone be original? Like, you have to go on a safari and perform a ritual where you hunt and kill the animal to become it? Or you have to save an animal from death's clutches and earn a life-debt from the animal which is transformed into the ability to wildshape into it? Or what about..."

Sirius ignored him. "First, we'll need to simmer a cauldron of water. Go get a cauldron, will you?"

Harry sighed, but began following the instructions.

First, they brought a cauldron of water to a boil.

Then they added poppies.

And then they let it simmer.

Harry's brow furrowed. "That's it? That's all there is to the potion?"

"Yep," Sirius confirmed.

"Isn't... isn't this just opium we're making?" Harry asked.

"Oh! So you've heard of it!" Sirius replied, laughing. "Yes, and when we make the elixir of opium, we ingest it and then we'll meditate until we run into our spirit animal..."

Harry snorted; 'Spirit Animals'? Honestly.

"Something the matter?"

"No, no," Harry answered, suppressing an eyeroll. "The sky-spirit was just telling me a funny tale about the trickster fox breaking my teepee's dreamcatcher."

Sirius frowned, but continued his instructions. "... run into our spirit animal, and once we do some other, shamanistic native-american-ish rituals, we'll be able to transform into animals at will!"

Seeing no way out of this mess (when did Harry every actively choose _not_ to be an Animagus?), he sighed. Well, no choice now but to elevate the story's rating due to 'Situations of Drug Use'.

Harry drank the hallucinogenic 'potion'.

And then the descriptions began. Flowing passages, numerous paragraphs, describing the strange sensations experienced by Harry Potter. Voyages of the sensory input, completely ignored by the reader, because they were simply skipping down until they could find out what freaking animal Harry could turn into for this story.

It was then, after all the lurid adjectives and reader skimming that Harry finally discovered his inner animal.

"I'm a duck."

Sirius blinked. "A what?"

"A duck. A black mallard with a green lightning bolt on my plumage."

Sirius shook his head. "Stop messing with me. You're always a hyper-masculine, overly-powerful creature. A dragon, a phoenix, a tiger, a panther, a python, a lion, a rhino, a griffin - you know, something _cool_."

"Sirius, I'm a duck."

"No, no, no!" Sirius shouted. "That's so _lame_. This fic is defective!"

Harry smirked. "At least I can get bread at the park from old retired folks."

* * *

Meanwhile, Ron was still in therapy trying to come to terms with the fact that he'd slept in a bed curled up with a grown man pretending to be a rat for the last few years.

You'd think more authors would use this excuse to get Ron out of the way in their stories... but it turns out making him a functional retard with an eating disorder is more enjoyable.

* * *

"So, where are you off to now, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "I was going to go to the ministry to see if I could get the underage restriction on my magic removed. Shouldn't be too hard - while I hate playing the Boy-Who-Lived card, everyone loves me, and I've got money to boot."

Sirius frowned. "I don't know if it'll be that simple, Harry."

"Of course it will. This is a fanfiction - getting something done at the ministry is a piece of cake. Just watch."

* * *

Harry strode into the Ministry of Magic.

"Purpose of Visit?" asked a bored receptionist.

"I want to remove the underage restriction on my wand."

The receptionist replied in a deadened voice. "Wand modifications are performed in the Department of Wandcraft."

"Where is that at?"

"North wing, fourth floor."

* * *

"Well, yes, this is the Department of Wandcraft, but I can't really help you out."

"Oh?"

"Well, removing an underage trace is a Class D-7 modification, which takes signed approval from the D.U.W."

"D.U.W.?"

"Department of Underage Witchcraft."

"... what if, theoretically, the Boy-Who-Lived is asking you to perform it _without_ that approval form?"

"Wouldn't matter," the wizard said with a shrug. "Spells are monitored regularly, and tracked by the D.I.M.S."

"D.I.M.S.?"

"Department of Inner-Ministry Spellwork. They have a procedure to match up all trace removal spells with the copy of the paperwork provided by the D.U.W. If I remove the trace, but they don't have the paperwork to match, they'll re-add the trace and I'd lose my job."

"Okay," Harry said, nodding. "Then I need to go to the Department of Underage Witchcraft."

"Sixth floor, west wing."

* * *

"Well, yes, that's true," Matilda Hopkirk said. "The problem is, I'm not authorized to give permission for your underage magic restriction to be lifted."

"But... but the person in Department of Wandcraft said they needed a signed approval from you."

"And they do," Matilda said, nodding. "But I'm just responsible for signoff and providing liaison between DIMS, DWC, and MLERC."

"MLERC?"

"Ministry Legal Exemption Review Committee."

Harry sighed. "Would it be possible for, hypothetically, to get signoff for the Boy-Who-Lived, but without going through the MLERC?"

Matilda shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, but MLERC has oversight over our department and frequently audits our paperwork. I'd mean my job if I did that."

"Fine. I'll go see the MLERC."

"East wing, second floor."

* * *

"Is this the Ministry Legal Exemption Review Committee?"

"Sort of. It's the Ministry Legal Exemption Department - MLED. The actual Review Committee only meets every other Wednesday for approved petitions."

"Petitions?"

"Well, people that are seeking legal exemptions need to petition the MOMLRD - Ministry of Magic Legal Requests Department. The MOMLRD reviews the requests to see if they meet surface standards - prima facie in legal parlance. Those requests are forwarded to us, and we compile them and arrange them for scheduling into the MLERC sessions."

"So I need to petition the MOMLRD?"

"Yes. They're in the north wing, eighteenth floor."

* * *

"Well, that's _technically_ true," the MOMLRD receptionist said. "But you're actually going to have to talk with the MLED first."

"I just _came_ from there. They told me to come _here_."

"Then they _should_ have told you that petitioners to MOMLRD must first file a Petition Intent form."

"Why the heck would I need to ask MLED if I can ask MOMLRD to submit a request back to MLED?"

"That's a good question. We get that a lot. But it's part of oversight to prevent MOMLRD personnel from pigeonholing requests."

"...?"

"It makes it impossible for MOMLRD personnel to get a request and simply stuff it away in a desk drawer and never act on it. Since the Intent to Petition goes through the MLED, a MOMLRD can't pigeonhole a request since the MLED will _also_ know of the request and be able to follow up if they don't receive a PAAS or PAAD."

"...?"

"Petition Acknowledged And Scheduled or Petition Acknowledged And Denied. Of course, PAAD have additional documentation that gets routed to the MOMOC - Ministry of Magic Oversight Committee - and the appropriate department matching the nature of the request - the DWC, in your case."

Harry groaned. "Okay, so, if I submit an Intent notice to the MLED, then submit an actual petition to the MOMLRD, I can wait until next Wednesday for the MLERC to approve it - and if they do, then go through the... I forget which departments, and then they can finally remove the trace on my wand?"

"Sure, as long as you fall under a pre-approved category for legal exemption."

"... what?"

"Well, you have to fall under an existing classification as to why you're requesting legal exemption. Such as, you're going to be pursuing an underage apprenticeship that requires use of a wand. You'll need to know which existing exemption you fall under and fill out the appropriate paperwork depending on which exemption class you're filing for."

"Where can I look to find out what the existing exemptions are?"

"Ministry Legislative Archives - MLA - on the fifth floor of the southern wing."

Harry quickly decided that it sounded like too much work (plus, knowing his luck, he'd have to get signed authorizations from several other departments just to look at MLA files anyways.)

"... assuming I don't fall under an existing exemption?" Harry asked with a wince.

"You'd have to lobby an MGLL representative to propose a classification change in the MOMLC sessions - and if the proposal is ratified, then you can..."

Harry sighed and left the room.

* * *

Sirius grinned at the sight of a bedraggled Harry Potter walked back into the room, nine hours later.

"So, did you get your trace removed?" he asked snarkily.

"Ugh."

"Did you _honestly_ think the ministry was some finely running clock? It's a _government bureaucracy_. I had to spend five hours just to get my name corrected from 'Serious' when I was admitted to Hogwarts. And even *that* wasn't completely successful - do you think all those Sirius/Serious puns in fanfiction are coincidence?"

"Next time I'll just bribe the minister," Harry groaned.

"Yep," Sirius replied with an eyeroll. "Because Fudge just _reeks_ of competence. Why, he'd efficiently and effectively cut through bureaucratic red-tape with startling success."

Harry glowered.

* * *

"My, my, my. I believe I've sorted you once before, Mister Potter."

Harry blinked. Apparently the author was just randomly skipping forward through large chunks of the story, and they were now at the Hogwarts sorting ceremony.

"Well, are you going to sort me in Gryffindor again?" Harry asked.

"Honestly, I'm not sure," the hat admitted.

"Oh? Did I really change that much over the last few years? Shouldn't I still be in Gryffindor?"

The hat didn't seem to hear him and was pondering something else. "It looks like stories where you're sorted into Ravenclaw are still making a showing, there's a surge of sorted-into-Hufflepuff, along with another resurgence of fics where you end up in Slytherin."

"... so?"

"So?!" the hat exclaimed. "Well, I'm _trying_ to be original, so I'm going to put you in whatever house is currently underrepresented."

Harry blinked. "Wait, wouldn't original be: writing a new and exciting and fresh story? Like, Voldemort breaks into the Department of Mysteries, steals a time turner, and begins to try to conquer history itself - with Harry, a middle-aged Dumbledore from decades past, and an elderly version of Remus Lupin from an apocalyptic future trying to hunt him down? Or, Rita Skeeter overhears a bit of international intrigue about a plot to overthrow the statue of secrecy and is suddenly hunted by a strange coalition of Death Eaters, rogue Order members, and even a shadowy cabal from the continent? Or Lupin and Snape try to work on a Lycanthropy cure that backfires and mutates the werewolf curse into something that can be spread like the flu?"

"No, original is me saying 'Gryffindor' when only 20% of the fics have you in that house. Speaking of which... _Better Be Gryffindor!_"

Harry groaned.

Fred and George waved him over to a spot next to them at the table. Harry hesitantly complied - he wasn't sure he trusted them. Sure, the fanfiction community absolutely adored the twins, but Harry wasn't sure whether they were 'lovable rogues' or 'people that humiliated others as a source of humor'. But, hey, bullies never use the 'Oh, they just need a sense of humor' as a cover for their antics, right?

"Hiya, Harry," a timid voice called out.

Harry turned around to see Neville sitting beside him.

"It's nice to meet you, Harry," Neville said. "I'm Neville Longbottom - I'm dreadfully shy, but just say the right few phrases of encouragement and I'll drastically change my personality and become a bold avatar of badassery in short order."

"Er... that's nice."

"I'm serious," Neville said (timidly.) "I'm going to be your best friend - screw Ron - and I'll be your lieutenant and stalwart defender throughout this fic. We'll even take down Voldemort together."

"Er, okay."

Neville nodded. "Just, you know, make sure you say those few tidbits of encouragement - because right now, just as a reminder, I'm so dreadfully shy. Say, by the way, have you thought about adding a vigorous daily exercise routine to your schedule? Just let me know if you do - because me or Hermione might want to join you."

"Right, er, I'm going to go sit at the Hufflepuff table."

* * *

Two months later, Harry was sitting at the Halloween feast.

And it was so horribly... boring.

"Wait, what?"

Boring. Because there was no troll.

"Of _course_ there's no Troll," Harry replied in disgust. "Why would there be a troll again?"

There was _always_ a Troll. At Halloween. It was how Harry bonded with his friends in every fic ever written. But not this one, because Harry royally screwed it up.

"Screwed it up?!" Harry sputtered. "I did the only smart thing!"

Harry, in his utter stupidity, went and did the dumbest possible mistake: he told Dumbledore everything his future-self knew.

"How is that _dumb_?!" Harry asked heatedly.

Dumbledore, of course, immediately put Quirrell in magical stasis, before beginning a week-long frenzy of activity that involved breaking into Malfoy Manor to steal Tom Riddle's diary, capturing Peter Pettigrew (yes, don't worry reader, Sirius was pardoned) and even began to scour the country for the remaining horcruxes.

"I fail to see the problem!" Harry replied. "Voldemort will never be reborn and, get this, no _school children_ will be placed in _mortal peril_."

Stupid protagonist.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm under the wing of a powerful wizard trying his hardest to make the world a good and safe place to live - why _wouldn't_ I tell him everything I could? And it meant that nobody died, nobody suffered, and everything turned out great! It'd be like Bilbo Baggins traveling back in time - why on earth wouldn't he say to Gandalf, 'Say, by the way, this ring I just found is actually the Ring of Power forged by Sauron. Yeah. We should probably figure out a way of destroying it.' Him doing anything else just reeks of idiocy."

...

"Is there a problem?"

...

"Really? The _narration_ is being silent. That's a new one. You don't usually see that in books."

...

"Oh, come on. We're at the Halloween feast. Describe it, so the readers know what's going on."

No.

"Stop being petulant. The story has to continue."

Why? It had no plot.

Harry smirked. "This is fanfiction. Nobody will notice."

* * *

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